


Redefined

by words4nerdz



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Light Sadism, PWP, Sensory Deprivation, captive sex, dub con, plotless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words4nerdz/pseuds/words4nerdz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No real excuse, just wanted to try writing smut for these two in different scenarios. Most will probably be consensual hate sex, but this one's definitely more one-sided. Basic context is that Sonya's captured by the Black Dragon and held for an extended period of time under sensory deprivation conditions--no conversation or contact, constant light, IV nutrition source, blah blah--and is uncharacteristically compliant at the prospect of human contact, even if it is with her old rival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redefined

The door opened again, and her world resumed. She flinched at the cacophony of each footstep, the deafening shush of clothing shifting, the rhythmic din of another person’s breath. How long had it been? The IV in her arm kept her from getting hungry or thirsty, and she’d been sleeping whenever the mood took her after they’d put the blind on. She wet her lips and cleared her throat.

“Hh-hello?” Her own voice sounded alien—husky with disuse.

The newcomer didn’t answer, but she could hear them coming closer. She could smell them, too—sweat, leather, acrid gun oil, the peppery corn chip musk of body odor. Male? Probably. From what she’d observed, the Black Dragon had a male-female ratio of about 15:1. Ahh, names. Numbers. It had been a while.

The air displaced by his entry stirred against her skin, and she was suddenly aware that she was sweating. Was it hot in here? Or was she sick? She didn’t remember if there was a difference.

He stopped in front of her—close, so close. She could feel the slight warmth of his proximity and the wind of his breath breaking on her bare skin.

She stirred, the chains on her manacles clinking. Her concept of modesty had dissolved under the weight of the ceaseless hours, days, weeks hanging here in her underwear. Still, she didn’t like being blinded and exposed in front of an unknown enemy.

There was a sudden pressure on her skin—rough fingers lifting her chin. Her nerves flared at the contact, and she gasped instinctively. He slapped her cheek, and the agony was incredible. It was a shock that stunned her into silence, and she hung still, striving with every ounce of energy that remained to her, waiting for more change, more new. Her fingers twitched.

“How are you feeling, Sonya?” Words! It was like a symphony. Each vowel and consonant saturated with nuance, with warmth and the rough tonality that an individual’s vocal cords, lungs, tongue, teeth, sculpted in concert. Her name, dropped like a sweet, ripe fruit before her. It was so good. She felt her eyes burn under the cloth, felt it dampen against her cheek.

“Sonya.” She registered the depth of the voice, the subtle warning, unspoken threat, but smiled anyway. It felt like a layer of clay was breaking, crumbling from her skin.

“Yes,” she choked, smiling widely. Joy at the remembered expression, almost more of a novelty than another’s voice, suffused her with a perfect lightness. She lifted her head, angling her face to the other person.

“How are you feeling?” he repeated, a sharp note of irritation in his voice.

She couldn’t think of the right words—her thoughts had slowed, and there was so much now. “I am. Feeling. I am now.”

He snorted. “Never figured you for a dramatic.” 

She felt his hand again—briefly against her forehead, then trailing down her neck, lingering at the hollow of her collarbone. Her overly sensitive nerves screamed in the wake of his touch, and she was unsure whether it was pain or pleasure. She moaned uncertainly, and he laughed deep in his throat.

“You like that?” His fingers slid down a couple inches, and she shivered.

“I don’t know. Yes. Yes,” she decided, arching her back and pressing herself more firmly against his hand. “Please.”

He laughed again and pushed her back against the wall, and the shock to her back was disorienting. His fingers swept down, over her bra and squeezing the whole of one breast so hard that she whimpered. His other hand traced down the flat plane of her stomach, hooking teasingly in the waistband of her underwear. She was panting, head leaned back as far as the wall would permit, throat bared to the man. He stepped closer, buried his head at her neck, biting at the thick band of her trapezius muscle. She tried to raise her legs, to twine them behind his or lock them at his waist, but the chains at her feet were too short.

“Patience,” he murmured against her skin, trailing less-than-gentle nips up her neck. “You’re not getting off that fast.” His teeth closed on her earlobe.

He stopped toying with her underwear and shoved his hand between her thighs, pushing back and forth along her labia. She clenched, crying out softly when his fingers brushed her throbbing clitoris.

“That’s it, easy now,” he breathed in her ear, facial hair scratching her cheek. The hand crushing her breast relented, going around her back to roughly unlatch her bra. He tried to rip it off, but the straps were caught around her arms. He growled in frustration, and she heard the cold snick of a knife being drawn. Then two quick tugs, a light thump as it hit the floor, and she felt the coolness of fresh air against the sensitive skin of her chest. She tried to reach down—to touch herself or to guide his head, but the restraints wouldn’t allow it.

“Please—let me—I want to—”

He sniggered, putting his thumb against her lips. “I know what you want.”

She parted her lips, took in the first joint of his thumb, and sucked gently, sliding her tongue under the pad. She could taste the slight metallic salt of his sweat, could feel the intricate ridges and whorls. He was breathing faster, and the hand at her crotch was moving faster, pushing harder. She felt wet, sure that she must be soaking through the thin cotton of her underwear.

“Do you want to see?” he asked, a catch in his voice.

She could barely handle the influx of sensory information as it was—she didn’t think she could process visual cues. She shook her head, whimpering as he tore his thumb from her mouth and wrenched her underwear down around her ankles.

“Fuck,” she moaned as his teeth dug into the tender flesh of her breast, tongue surging against her stiff nipple. Calloused fingers nudged between her labia, sliding across the slick folds, seeking her center.

“You bloody fucking bitch—you are so fucking wet.” His voice buzzed in her ribs. She convulsed, hips rocking, shoulder blades slamming against the wall. He found her vaginal opening, thrusting one thick finger up into the tight heat. She choked, clenching around him, and yelped when he pushed another finger in—it felt like she was tearing in half.

“W-wait—oh—slow, I—” she hissed, spine stiff, biting her lip and silencing herself. His breaths were coming fast and hard, and she could feel him shaking rhythmically, hear a frantic slapping of flesh that she didn’t feel. “It hurts.”

“Shit, okay, fuck.” His voice was strained, and he roughly withdrew his fingers from her, wiping them on her thighs. “Spread, bitch.”

She spread her legs as best as she could, but it wasn’t enough—he slapped a hand to her inner thigh and shoved out. She gasped at a brief pain as something popped, but a warm numbness spread through the area, and suddenly he was pressed against her, the stiff head of his cock pushing agonizingly against her entrance. One hand was clamped at her waist, thumb boring cruelly into her pelvis, and the other had wrapped under her arm, fingers digging into her shoulder.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, you know that?” he breathed, easing slowly, slowly into her. Her fists clenched and her arms strained against the chains. She needed to touch him, to seize his head and shove it between her breasts, to sink her fingernails into his back and tear him bloody. 

“Please,” she panted. “Please—”

“Not this time,” he said with difficulty. “Be good.”

“But—” 

He thrust violently into her, surging forward in a swift, powerful motion, and she screamed, every muscle tightening down, down, focusing around his full length.

“Hh-ah, yeah, that’s it.” He pulled back and shoved forward again, then again, settling into a steady rhythm. “Fuck, you are tight as hell—hn-m, shit.”

She yelped with every thrust, getting louder and more insistent as he continued. He shifted his hand around her shoulder, grabbing one of her breasts and kneading it. His hand at her hip slid around, rubbing an asscheek, fingers digging into her flesh. Every point of contact was on fire, blisteringly sharp, building into a soaring intensity that—that—

She bucked against her restraints, knocking her head against the wall and crying out in the throes of her orgasm. He laughed, speeding up.

“I knew you’d…be first,” he gasped, fingers tightening. “Knew it.”

She sagged in her restraints, legs useless, jerking with his continued motion. She tried to talk, but her tongue was slow to respond.

“Well?” he asked, pulling her tightly against him as he thrust. “Aren’t you grateful?”

“Hnh-um.” She licked her lips.

“Speak up, love,” he hissed in her ear, then licked behind it in a long, wet swipe. She shuddered at the heat of his tongue, and gulped when his next push was harder and sustained, shoving as far into her as he could go.

“T-thank you,” she panted.

He snickered, coarse facial hair scratching the wet, sensitive skin of her neck as he kissed her throat and under her chin, forcing her head back so that her skull tapped firmly against the wall. “Good girl. Again, and say my name.”

The hand at her breast clenched mercilessly, and she cried out at the pain. “Kano—thank you, Kano!”

He flinched against her, making a small choking sound in the back of his throat, and she felt him cum, a leaden slickness filling her. He instantly relaxed, pulling free from her and pushing away. She heard his shallow breaths recede, stumble into themselves until they were laughter.

“Not bad, sweetheart,” he said, and she heard the smile in his voice beneath the shuffle and drag of fabric, the metallic reticulation of a zipper. “Maybe I’ll let you thank me properly next time.”

Footsteps. Going away. She started, instinctively lunging toward the sounds and wincing when her restraints cut into her wrists.

“Wait, don’t!”

The footsteps paused.

“What the fuck do you want?” The lazy satisfaction had ebbed to a brittle irritation, but she savored each bitter syllable. If he left, she didn’t know when she’d hear another human voice again. 

“Wh-when are you coming back?” She licked her lips and strained, every nerve tensed for his answer.

He laughed, and the footsteps continued off. The crisp snap of the door latch was like a slap in the face, and Sonya hung there in shock, trembling, sweat dripping down her neck, and cum trailing down the insides of her thighs. Her breath was the only sound in the room, and even it seemed to dwindle to nothing.


End file.
